Love Is Bitter And All

Memories Should Be Sharp When One Has Nothing Else To Live For

Life Has Puffed And Blown Itself Into A Summer Day, And Clouds And Spring Billow Over The Heavens As If Calendars Were A Listing Of Mathematical Errors.

Oh, We Are Going To Be So Happy Away From All The Things That Almost Got Us But Couldn't Quite Because We Were Too Smart For Them!

They Hadn't Much Faith In Travel, Nor A Great Belief In A Change Of Scene As A Panacea For Spiritual Ills; They Were Simply Glad To Be Going.

I Take A Sun Bath And Listen To The Hours, Formulating, And Disintegrating Under The Pines, And Smell The Resiny Hardihood Of The High Noon Hours. The World Is Lost In A Blue Haze Of Distances, And The Immediate Sleeps In A Thin And Finite Sun.